“You got this in the bag, my nigga. Do this s**t and bring it home,” Brolic smiled putting his jacked up grill on display again, gripping and shaking his homeboy’s shoulder.
“When do I leave?” Zonyai inquired.
Mufasa pulled the sleeve of his suit back and looked at his Rolex. Looking up at him, he said, “Package is supposed to be there at nine, it’s 8:17 now.”
“Alright, I better get a move on it.” He slid from out of his seat, grabbing his jacket from off the back of the chair and heading for the door.
Brolic stood up and faced the exit as his nigga headed out.
“You got this, Cuz!” he pounded his fist to his heart. Zonyai saw him through the reflection of the glass door as he pushed it open. He threw up two fingers and kept it moving.” I ain’t worried about nothing, God’s got my back.
